


Motherless

by McFearo



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFearo/pseuds/McFearo
Summary: “What is your name?”His name was Shiloh.But he was not supposed to say that.“It is Damiminus,” he tried again, looking at the left strap of the man's goggles. He looked like a big black-eyed beetle he saw once."Damianus."
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Motherless

“What is your name?”

His name was Shiloh.

His mommy and daddy called him Shy-Baby sometimes.

But he was not supposed to say that.

“Dimm'nus," he tried. The boy picked at a loose string on his tunic. The name the men had given him was big, compared to Shiloh, and his mouth wasn't used to the sounds.

The man in the armor snapped his fingers loudly and made him jump. “Look at me.”

He craned his head back to look up.

“What is your name?” the man asked again.

“It is Damiminus,” he tried again, looking at the left strap of the man's goggles. He looked like a big black-eyed beetle he saw once.

" _ Damianus _ ."

"Damiaminus," he agreed quietly.

"What is your father's name?”

The boy sucked his lower lip in and shook his head.

“Tell me your father's name.” The man showed all his teeth.

He shook his head again, and the man bent down in half, hands on his knees, to yell the question a third time in his face -- it made him jump, but he knew better than to run away like he wanted to. He felt spit sprinkle on his cheek.

He bit his lip and tried not to cry. He didn't know what the right answer was. He only knew the wrong answer. If he said it he'd be in trouble. He didn't want to say it again.

“Call for your mother again.”

The boy shook his head vigorously. That, too, would be the wrong answer. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, but he was not supposed to say Mommy. Even when the man picked him up by his tunic and gave him a shake that made his teeth click together, he could not say Mommy.

Maybe that was the right answer; when he didn't say anything, the man put him down and told him to go back to the ladies. He didn't hit him this time.

Damianus wobbled off.

* * *

"What's your name?" Damianus asked.   
  
The boy squinted at him angrily, hunched over the washboard. He was babying the welts on his legs, and he had a runny nose and eyes still red from crying.   
  
Damianus didn't ask again, just nodded to him.  _ Well? _   
  
"Rainer," the boy said.   
  
Damianus shook his head.   
  
"It  _ is, _ " he insisted.   
  
Damianus shook his head again. "I am Damianus," he said, slow and careful, by way of instruction.  _ Do as I do _ . "What is your name?"   
  
"My name is Rainer!" His voice rose angrily. For all his bluster, they both looked around to see if anyone had heard him. The trainer looked their way and Damianus ducked his head down and continued scrubbing.   
  
He didn't come over. They could only hope he heard the noise but not what was said -- that he only thought they were arguing about things not worth his attention.   
  
All the same, Damianus and he-who-claimed-to-be-Rainer worked in tense silence for a while, waiting for the trainer to change his mind and march over. As far as Damianus could tell from the corner of his eye, though, he continued to not care.   
  
Damianus chewed on his thoughts for a while. It was always difficult, making the new boys understand when they were angry.

If he said it wrong, Not-Rainer might start a fight over it. He was bigger than Damianus. Most of them were. 

They had nowhere to go until they finished their work, at least, and it gave him time to think.   
  
Laundry was women's work, and there was a cluster of them nearby scrubbing and wringing tunics and ignoring the boys, but until they started proper training it was their work as well: cleaning clothes and armor, serving and tidying up after meals, any labor around camp that was beneath the real legionaries to do. They'd only graduate out of it when they were old enough to train into the Legion, if they passed examination.   
  
Damianus didn't mind the monotony of it. He could think when his hands were busy.   
  
"You have to straighten up, because it doesn't stop," he said eventually, quietly, when he felt he'd sorted it out. "You aren't more stubborn than they are. You have to understand that."

"I can be awfully stubborn," the other boy grumbled.   
  
Damianus could see him glowering at him out of the corner of his eye. He kept his head turned to his work. "If you don't stop that, they'll beat you more. If the others catch you crying about it, they will too. It doesn't stop until you--"   
  
"What's  _ your _ name?" not-Rainer spat.   
  
"My name is Damianus."   
  
"What was it before?"   
  
"My name is Damianus," he repeated. "I don't have another one."   
  
"That's a lie. What did your mother name you?"   
  
Damianus didn't look up. "I have no mother," he said, without hesitation.

He had the answers memorized, like a creed, or the recipe for bitter drink, or the steps to strip and clean the legionaries' rifles down to the firing pin. He didn't have to think about them. 

The boy who wasn't called Rainer anymore was staring at him. "Everybody's got a mother."

"Legionaries don't have mothers," Damianus said firmly. "If you want to be a legionary, your only family is your brothers. No one else. And you want to be a legionary, because if you don't make it as a legionary you'll be a slave the rest of your life. And that's if they don't kill you for your smart mouth."

"Like I'm gonna kill you for yours?"

"Only stating the obvious." Damianus said coolly, but still watched him out of the corner of his eye in case he threw a fist. "You going to pretend you aren't proud of it?"

The boy snorted but said nothing, glowering at his work. He didn't attack him. They worked quietly for a while again, before he asked Damianus, "Do you lecture everyone like a fucking know-it-all?"

"Only the idiots and the no-hopers," Damianus said, trying to keep his tone light and glancing quickly at the other boy to see if he took it as intended; he didn't look up from the tunic he was scrubbing, but he huffed a breath out of his nose like a laugh, so maybe that was okay. "And the ones who're scared. It's only scary if you don't-- just, if you don't know what you're supposed to say and do. Right? It's just life when you're used to it. I can help.

"The others laugh when we get new kids." Damianus shrugged. "No offense. You make our lives easier for a while because the trainers and the legionaries are watching you, not us." He wrung out a tunic, set it aside. "And most of you panic and stare like dumb brahmin when they yell--"

"That's fucking funny to you?" The other boy leaned forward, crowding his space and glowering like he was rethinking not hitting him.

Damianus shook his head with a grimace and a weak shrug. "A little. But only because that was us once, when we were littler. We went through that. Still do sometimes, but not as much, usually." He pointed to the scar on the bridge of his nose, left there by a gauntlet that hadn't been removed before the back of a man's hand struck his face.

He'd been much littler, and he was caught dragging a legionary's armor in the dirt when he was ordered to collect it from the women who were cleaning it for him.

He hadn't meant to. It was just bigger than he was and he had trouble carrying it. But he was bigger now, and he knew better.

"It's just sort of funny because everyone remembers when all you could do was panic, instead of knowing what to do to uh… to fix it, orrrr... You know, what they want you to say. Or how to just avoid it," he finished lamely. "But like I said, once you learn, it's just life, and-- I can help you. So it isn't as scary. And so this doesn't happen so much," he said, pointing at a bloodied lash across the boy's leg.

The boy looked at him a while. He seemed calmer. Maybe Damianus had gotten through to him. He looked at the scar on Damianus' nose and turned away.

"What's your name?" Damianus tried again.

A long silence followed, while the boy who was once Rainer ran his thumb along the bristles of a scrub brush.

"They said it's Erasmus," he said finally. Quiet.

Damianus nodded and held out his hand to Erasmus, who regarded it a moment before clasping it in his and squeezing.

"Good to meet you, Erasmus. I'm Damianus. Just follow my lead, okay?"


End file.
